GOTTA WRITE THE CHAPTER GOTTA WRITE THE CHAPTER FUCK

also i edited ch 4 so like go read that i guess?

"—so then Foggy had to go and explain that we couldn't accept payment in VIP cards to strip clubs, and the guy just about had a meltdown."

"Wait, wait, wait," Aishe cackled, working the handpress. "So you're telling me this guy had a bunch of VIP cards to the strip club just, like, sitting around?"

"I don't know!" Karen exclaimed, eyes bright with humor. "When Foggy came back to the office he was so red, but we managed to get him on a payment plan, so it all worked out in the end I guess."

"I guess?" Aishe guffawed, popping a lid onto the last of Karen's coffees.

Karen smiled, and Aishe pretended that her stomach didn't fall at the butterflies there. As always, the blonde woman dropped a few coins in the tip jar and left with a cheery promise to come back the next day.

It was quiet without Karen's enthusiasm to fill the shop. It was the peak of the season for the little coffee shop, so Aishe's interactions with the other woman had been limited to short, distracted greetings.

Even when the other woman had inquired about her health, all she could do was shrug and laugh tiredly. Work didn't make her health any worse than it already was, and it paid the bills. What more was there to ask for?

She smiled at the memory, grabbing a rag off the rack to begin wiping off counters. The lull in customers was silent except for the low chatter of some stragglers. Today she felt healthy.

She felt alive.

The TV was blasting some trashy reality show when Matt stopped by that night. He frowned in confusion as he perched on the already open window, ready to lecture the girl (not his friend, he reminded himself, friends would only make him more vulnerable) on the importance of closing possible entrances to her apartment when her heartbeat broke through his thoughts. It was fast and tense. Nervous.

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly. Aishe looked up at him in surprise.

"Wow, no lecture about the open window?" she joked shakily. "I must really be a mess right now if you can't even find the time to lecture me about safety."

The corner of his mouth curled up.

"You seem tense," he noted.

"Maybe it's because you're perching on my window sill like a weirdo," she shot back. "Seriously, get off. I don't want to be cleaning scuff marks off the second you leave."

He did so with— was she imagining things?— exaggerated reluctance. "Happy now?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't bother to respond. "Are we just. Not going to talk about what happened the other night?" she asked instead, voice soft and nervous.

When Matt didn't respond, she just sighed and got off the couch to go into the kitchen. Matt could hear her fumbling around in her cabinets, smelled something floral and earthy that he recognized as tea.

"So, is there any reason you insist on plaguing my life, Mr. Daredevil? I don't exactly think I would be an asset in crimefighting. Though admitedly I've never tried," she mused speculatively.

He slipped into the kitchen afterward and shrugged.

"If you say that it's because you have a debt to repay, I'll beat you over the head with this mug."

"Feisty," he chuckled, raising a brow.

She yelped and whipped around, mug slipping from her hands and wincing as she waited for it to shatter at her feet. She opened her eyes hesitantly when there was no crash, meeting Matt's exasperated expression through his mask.

"Are you always this clumsy?" he asked, holding the mug in his hand.

Aishe stared at him dumbly. "You're kind of an asshole, you know," she said finally.

"So I've heard," the masked vigilante smirked.

"Wow, a cocky asshole too," she muttered. "What are the odds."

Matt laughed sharply. "You know, most people would be more careful with someone like me in their apartment."

Aishe snorted. "You're about as scary as a puppy," she proclaimed bravely. Matt grinned when her heartbeat skipped and leaned forward until he was towering over her.

"Are you sure about that?" he murmured jokingly, reveling in the sharp spike in her heartrate.

"You come into my apartment and don't even want to talk about a real, legitimate issue, but you have time to scare the shit out of me, a poor, defenseless civilian? Low."

"Like you said," he replied backing off. "You've never tried your hand at fighting crime before. Maybe you would be good at it."

She stared at him for a moment, eyes searching his face for any trace of a joke, before bursting out laughing. He quirked an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing," she snorted, swaying slightly. "You. You um..."

She took a shaky step to the side to grip the counter. Matt could hear the creak of her knuckles tightening like a vice to steady herself. Her heartbeat was quick and skipping, like an old, scratched record.

"Aishe?" he asked.

She blinked forcefully.

"Just give it a second," she mumbled. "I just...need to get my bearings."

"Would you like me to help you?"

She shook her head, finally straightening back up and heading out of the kitchen, tea forgotten.

Matt heard the couch creak under her weight as she settled in. She sighed as she waited for him to come and join her like she knew he would. Never one to disappoint, Matt settled awkwardly on the arm at the opposite end of the couch. It was uncomfortable, he noted, and old. It was disconcerting, this constant shift between carefree and hestitantly awkward that seemed to always brew between them. At first, he hadn't known why he kept on visiting. But there was something light and freeing about visiting this girl who he barely knew. It was different. It was grounding.

Broken out of his thoughts by a tiny cough, he looked in her direction, practically feeling her quizzical stare.

"You're something else, you know that?" she murmured.

"I could say the same about you," he replied. "Not many people would allow the Devil of Hell's Kitchen into their home so openly."

She shrugged. "You've done a bit more help than harm I think. And you took down Fisk. All that has to count for something."

He frowned. "You sure do put a lot of trust into someone you don't even know."

Aishe leveled him with a contemplative stare.

"People are...easy," she began slowly. "There's a pattern to them. We all have things that make us tick, that make us who we are. But deep down, we all share some fundamental attributes too, I guess. They're like paintings kind of. Except paintings don't talk and aren't generally you know. Alive."

He barked out a sharp laugh at that. "You sound like you've thought about this a lot."

"Not that much," she chuckled with something melancholy. "I'm sorry for the other night."

"It's okay."

They sat there in silent, watching the moon steadily rise over Hell's Kitchen. When Matt rose to leave, he sent one last glance over his shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Aishe," he said softly.

She clutched at the fabric of her shirt softly.

"Yeah. Tomorrow," she smiled.

This chapter was a bitch to write I have no motivation for anything lmao. Anyway classes started again this semester so it's been assfuck since I could update.